Happily
by Rachel Smith Cobleigh
Summary: * Danielle finally has her Prince Charming and Henry his Cinderella, but creating their happily ever after comes with its own challenges, and some unexpected discoveries. These are a few missing scenes set near the end of the movie. [M for depictions of intimacy and references to prior abuse]
1. Chapter 1

HAPPILY

An _Ever After_ story

by Rachel Smith Cobleigh

 _1_

Hunched low over Féroce's neck, Henry thundered down the country lane, keeping a firm tension on the reins as the horse galloped towards the gloomy keep that rose above the late-morning mists. Henry threw a quick glance over his shoulder: Laurent and the rest of his guardsmen were close behind, their expressions grim, clods of dirt flying up under their horses' hooves. Satisfied, Henry squinted ahead and rose slightly above the saddle, tightening the reins a notch and urging Féroce to lengthen his stride. Every second mattered.

Henry galloped over the rise and Le Pieu's castle lay before him, a few thin peasants clothed in sagging browns and greys moving about their business near the gate. There were two burly, black-clothed guards leaning against the stonework, but they had only moments to push themselves up, shocked, as the royal guards came thundering through the archway. People scattered to either side of the entrance, and Henry pulled Féroce up, pausing to get his bearings. The entrance to the keep was on the far side of the upper courtyard. Henry quickly dismounted and gave the reins to Laurent, who hurried to accept them.

 _Where was she?_ Henry jogged up the incline looking for more guards, but none appeared.

Striding across the barren courtyard, his heart was in his throat and his hand was on his sword when he saw Danielle emerge from the keep. Acrid smoke drifted through the air between them, and he squinted as he took in her appearance. Her dress was soiled, her long hair unbound and dirty. She walked towards him with rounded shoulders, her gaze fixed on the ground and an odd sort of half-smile on her face, but when she lifted her eyes and saw him, her steps faltered, and she touched her hair before looking down again.

He drew closer, glancing around, but there was no sign of anyone else in the courtyard. He frowned. Wasn't she being kept against her will? Where were her captors? He stopped a few feet away from her.

"Hello," he said.

"Hello." She stared at him.

He looked more closely at her. She seemed so tired, so unlike the alert, passionate woman that he had known.

"What are you _doing_ here?" Danielle asked, her tone a mix of confusion and disbelief.

Henry glanced towards the dark doorway where she'd appeared, but no one else had come out after her.

"I, um...came to rescue you," he answered, feeling a fool.

"Rescue me?" Her face contorted into confusion of a different sort. "A commoner?" Frowning in disbelief, she stepped to the side, continuing past him.

He sagged slightly as he turned. "Actually, I came to beg your forgiveness."

But Danielle only walked on, her weary pace unchanged. As he watched her back, bowed and dirty, he imagined the delicate faerie wings from her beautiful costume at the masque, one wing cruelly ripped off by the Baroness. Danielle's back had rounded then, too, when he had allowed that public abuse and had refused to defend her. Instead, he had taken a step back and watched her crumble, shamed and spurned as she fled the castle, weeping.

He winced and took a few tentative steps towards her. "I offered you the world and at the first test of honour, I betrayed your trust." When she still didn't pause, his gut twisted. "Please, Danielle!"

At this, she stopped and turned. "Say it again."

Henry's voice broke. "I'm sorry." It wasn't enough. It would never be enough.

"No," Danielle said, shaking her head. A tiny smile tugged at her lips. "The part where you said _my name_." She gave him a small, tired smile now and he grinned with still-uncertain relief.

"Danielle," he repeated, loving her all the more. Her forgiveness, the simplicity of her request—yes, _this_ was the woman he loved.

As she laughed softly and closed her eyes with a happy sigh, he reached back and pulled the glass slipper out of his belt, its encrusted beadwork a mixture of smooth and rough textures against his palm. He didn't have a ring with him. All Henry had was this one piece of her, and he held it out reverently, his heart pounding.

"Perhaps you would be so kind as to help me find the owner of this..." He stepped up to her. "...rather remarkable shoe."

She stared at it, stunned, her face tightening as though she were about to cry. "Where did you _find_ that?"

Henry leaned in, infusing each syllable with as much conviction as he could convey. "She is my match in _every way_ ," he said, fighting to keep his voice steady. He would beg, if he had to. "Please tell me I haven't lost her."

Danielle looked down, her eyes falling closed, and she shook her head as she turned away. "It belongs to a peasant, Your Highness, who only _pretended_ to be a courtier to save a man's life." She sat down on the low stone wall behind her, sagging, her hands working restlessly in the folds of her stained skirt.

"Yes, well, I—I know. And the name's Henry, if you don't mind."

He held her gaze a moment as she gave him a wistful smile, but then she looked down at her hands and let them fall loose in her lap. Her head and shoulders hung, defeated. He frowned. She didn't believe him. Perhaps she thought him already married? What had Le Pieu told her?

Henry could see the weariness in her frame, the soot on her clothing, the layers of dirt worked into her face and hands. He stood before her dressed in his grandest finery, in the wedding-clothes of a prince, and realised how far away from her he must seem. And yet here he stood, and their appearances, their stations, mattered not a whit.

But after his betrayal, how could she believe him? What more could he do to win her trust? Words weren't enough. He so desperately wanted to reach out and gather her into his arms.

He looked down at the glass slipper for a long moment, and suddenly an idea came to him. Slowly, he sank down until he was crouched before her, one knee on the ground, his face now level with hers. When she looked at him, disbelief warring with hope in her eyes, he swallowed.

"I kneel before you not as a prince, but as a _man_ in _love_ ," he said, begging her to understand. Her mouth fell open as she stared at him, and he reached down and lifted her ankle. "But I—" He grasped the heel of the scuffed, dirty brown shoe that encased her small foot. "—would feel like a king—" He heard her sob as he pressed on, tugging the shoe away. She wore thin grey stockings, and there were holes under her toes. "—if you, Danielle de Barbarac—" Now there was a laugh mixed up with the sobs. He laid the shoe aside and waited until she finally lifted her eyes to his. "—would be my wife."

With those words, he slid the beautiful glass slipper over the torn and dirty stocking, and her frame began to shake with soft laughter that quickly became tears. Her features pulled into tight lines as she sobbed, and she buried her face in her hands, shaking her head a little. Henry watched her, not breathing while her sobs tore at him, until she dropped her hands and began to laugh helplessly, her eyes still closed.

Giving a slightly hysterical laugh-sob, Danielle launched herself at him and flung her arms round his neck with a joyful little scream, giggling amidst her tears. He stood up to keep from losing his balance and wrapped his arms around her, soon meeting her every kiss and laughing breathlessly as he spun her in a circle. They could have been flying, exploding outward in every direction for all he knew; he was dizzy with elation and relief.

Actually, he really _was_ getting dizzy. Still laughing, he stopped spinning and set her down, but one look at her glowing expression made him laugh and kiss her again. The light in her eyes! Oh how dearly he loved it, loved her broad, honest smile. She loved _him!_ Despite all of his foolishness and blindness, this magnificent, thrilling creature _loved_ him! The days stretched out before him, now filled with the promise of constant challenge, and humor, and understanding; life lived to the fullest. He marvelled at his wildly good fortune. She had forgiven him!

Sobering, he drew her close and cradled her head against his chest, closing his eyes as he rested his cheek on her hair. The unwashed strands smelled of roasted meat, of a tangy scent—her sweat?—and... Henry frowned and tightened his arms around her. Pipe smoke. Le Pieu.

Henry didn't know what she had endured in these last few days since the masque, and he bit the inside of his lip at the thought that her suffering had taken place because of his cowardice. She hadn't deserved any of this. She had never sought him out, never asked to be noticed, never initiated a single meeting. He had done it all, forcing her into assuming the role of a courtier for far longer than she had ever wanted. She had tried to avoid him, but her elusiveness had only increased his desire to pursue her. And when she had finally worked up the courage to tell him the truth at the masque, his actions had reduced her to these squalid circumstances. It stung him to realise that she must have known something of the sort would likely happen; of course she had avoided him and struggled to trust him with the truth sooner. He had invited her to the masque and had assumed she would come, without once asking her if she wished for such a public spectacle, and when she had put herself at his mercy before the whole court, he had shamed her in the worst way possible.

Dear God, he would spend the rest of his days making it up to her.

By now, Danielle's laughter had quieted as well and she sniffed, reaching up to wipe at her eyes and nose. Her hands were darkened with soot and smelled strongly of an armoury—metal polish?—and the motion left dark smudges on her face. Henry chuckled and fished in his pockets for a handkerchief.

She gave a soft laugh as she accepted it. "Thank you." When she finished wiping her hands and face, the handkerchief was more grey than white. "Oh—" she said, looking at it in dismay. "I'm sorry—"

"Never mind that," Henry said. He found a relatively clean corner and gently wiped around one of her eyes, then smiled and bent to kiss her still-smudged and now tear-streaked cheek. She gave a small moan and he sighed against her skin, something familiar stirring in him. Taking a deep breath, he straightened and looked around. Laurent stood at the edge of the courtyard, a placid smile on his face, holding his own horse's reins in one hand, and Féroce's reins in the other. "Come," Henry said, taking Danielle's hand.

She still appeared a little stunned, and her footsteps were reluctant. He paused to look at her.

"What's wrong?" he asked, then suddenly glanced up at the keep. "Did you leave your belongings behind?"

Danielle gave a short laugh and shook her head. "I have nothing here." With a tentative smile, she stepped forward, tugging _his_ hand now. "I am just trying to convince myself that this isn't all a dream."

Henry laughed. "I assure you it is not. What must I do to prove it?"

"Pinch me."

He twisted to look at her with one eyebrow cocked, then smirked. "I have a better idea."

She started to frown, but he bent and scooped her up, grinning when she gave a tiny shriek and clutched at him reflexively. When he began walking, she finally relaxed and, after shooting a slightly embarrassed glance at Laurent and the waiting guardsmen, she rested her head against Henry's shoulder.

He sighed with contentment. He could have walked with her in his arms forever—except that she _was_ rather heavy and he didn't have much practice carrying people about, and the horses were a goodly distance off. But he was _not_ going to fail her. He tightened his grip, breathed as evenly as he could, and kept walking. Laurent's eyebrows had nearly disappeared up under his cap, but Henry studiously ignored him, measuring his steps and fighting the increasing burn in his arms.

Danielle tightened her grip around his neck and lifted her head to smile at him, and he crossed the final distance with renewed vigor, finally setting her down beside his horse with as smooth and confident a motion as he could. Laurent kept silent, although there was a fond amusement in his expression when Henry finally looked at him. Then Henry paused with a frown. They only had one horse per man; in the rush to mount a rescue party, he hadn't thought to command that an extra horse be brought along.

Laurent beckoned to a couple fellows behind them. "Saultier! Hollande! Bring the bedrolls."

 _Bedrolls?_ Henry was surprised that his guards even had them; they weren't intending to spend the night sleeping outdoors. But Laurent, as usual, had planned several steps ahead of him. Saultier and Hollande dismounted, untied the rolled-up blankets behind their saddles, and came over to Féroce, quieting him with reassuring murmurs as Hollande quickly folded his bedroll and laid it across the horse to make a pillion behind the saddle.

Henry nodded his thanks, saying to Danielle, "I'll ride behind." _You look exhausted._

He turned to hoist her up, but she only set her mouth in a determined line, put one foot in the stirrup, took a handful of Féroce's mane, and pulled herself up onto his back, tugging up her skirts as she went. She swayed slightly, however, and Henry had to put a hand on her leg to steady her. She shot him a chagrined look and tried to sit up straighter, but he just smiled reassuringly up at her. He could see how she wanted to hide her weariness, but she didn't have to.

Then he swallowed at the sight of her shifting her hips, her long, grey-white pantaloons dangling out from under the dirty blue folds of her overdress, which was now bunched up around her thighs.

And of course Laurent had planned for this as well. Saultier stood nearby with his blanket unfurled, waiting for Henry to mount Féroce. With an amused shake of his head, Henry pulled himself up onto the pillion and settled down behind Danielle, twisting to accept the offered blanket. He made sure she was snugly wrapped in it—given the cool morning air, she was probably more comfortable now anyway—before accepting Féroce's reins from Laurent.

Henry swallowed. Danielle's derriere was firmly resting in the cradle of his legs, her thighs pressed against his. He leaned closer, tightened his legs, and slid one arm around her waist.

"All right?" he murmured beside her ear, and she turned her head slightly with a nod. She settled back against him and he smiled. His wife. She was going to be his wife!

Henry squeezed Féroce's sides and clucked, tugging on the reins. The great grey gelding obliged, turning his head towards home, and soon the rescue party was off, trotting down the road that led from the Le Pieu estate. Henry was relieved that neither the man nor any of his servants had attempted to mount a resistance, although he wasn't surprised. Pierre Le Pieu was a canny businessman and decent swordsman, but he wasn't an idiot. Except when it came to women, apparently. Henry's stomach turned over at the thought that women could be bought and sold in such a crass fashion. It was the sort of horror one would expect from savage foreigners, not red-blooded Frenchmen! He resolved to speak to his father about the matter. Le Pieu would be made to pay for his actions.

But Le Pieu had not been the only one involved in the terrible deed, for someone had _sold_ Danielle. Her cousin, that awful de Ghent woman—but no, the Baroness de Ghent was not Danielle's cousin. She was the lady of the manor; Danielle was only her servant. What a terrible place that house must be to work in! He couldn't imagine his father ever selling the servants. The criminals, certainly, but not the hard-working, God-fearing servants. And Danielle was not the first one in the Baroness's household to be sold like chattel. Hadn't Danielle begun her charade as the elusive Comtesse Nicole de Lancret only to save the life of another servant who had been unjustly condemned? Because of her, Henry himself had been the one to command that the old fellow be released. If she hadn't intervened, and if Henry hadn't helped her, would an innocent man now be enslaved in the Americas, or worse, dead? Henry frowned.

The road from the Le Pieu estate soon joined the main road, and Henry turned Féroce towards home, slowing the horse to a walk. Laurent followed, hanging back a polite distance with the guardsmen, continuing to give Henry and Danielle a measure of privacy to speak freely, as long as they spoke in low tones.

"How are you?" Henry asked.

She gave a soft chuckle. "I am well."

"You must be tired."

"Yes," she said with a sigh, "but I am unhurt."

He closed his eyes briefly in gratitude.

"How did you escape Le Pieu?" he finally asked her, when they were perhaps a half-mile along the main road. "I had expected to find you locked in a tower room somewhere."

Danielle drew in a deep breath and let it out. When she turned her head slightly, he saw a smirk playing on her lips. "The first time, I just ran away. I made it nearly an hour before they caught me." She looked ahead again, her voice sobering. "They locked me up for three days after that, although it was in the root cellar, not in the upper floors of the keep. Then...he enjoyed toying with me, so they put my feet in manacles this morning—he said he'd had the smith make them especially for me—and I was hobbled. I could walk, but..." Her shoulders hunched inside the blanket.

A black fury burned in Henry's chest. If only Le Pieu had resisted! Henry would have relished running him through.

Danielle continued. "He had me doing petty tasks: unnecessary cleaning, tending the fires, waiting on him. Anything to mock me."

Henry nodded, although she couldn't see it. They rode in silence for a short while, until he said thickly, "Did he...hurt you?"

Danielle lifted her head. "No, nothing beyond the usual."

 _The usual_. Henry's chest tightened, his black thoughts now directed towards the Baroness. Then he frowned, closing his eyes briefly as he considered what his rush to make amends truly meant. Le Pieu might still be a threat, but now one of a different and far more complicated sort: after having Danielle in his power for this long, Le Pieu could make trouble for the succession...

Henry swallowed. "I'll not retract my offer, but tell me truly: did he...touch you?"

"No, he didn't...touch me," she answered quietly. "I didn't let him. Although—" She turned her head towards Henry. "—just before you arrived, he tried. I think he'd finally grown impatient with my refusals, but while he was distracted, I drew his dagger and threatened him with it. He tried to advance on me, but I cut his face." She gave a derisive snort. "The fool had me cleaning his swords. I just picked one up and held him at sword-point until he finally gave me the key to unlock my chain. I told him to go wait by the fire, and to keep his hands in the air. Then I unlocked the manacles, threw them away, and walked outside. That's when you arrived."

"But weren't you afraid he'd come after you?"

Danielle shook her head. "Le Pieu is a bully. Once you expose a man like him as the true coward he is—and you leave him with a bleeding face for all the world to see—" Henry chuckled. "—you've proven yourself too much trouble to bother with."

Henry's bitter humour faded into regret, and he curved around her protectively for a moment.

"I'm so sorry you had to endure that," he murmured. "I'll never let anything so terrible happen to you again."

The sideways smile she gave him was bittersweet. She rested her hand on his leg, giving him a caress, and he drew in a sharp breath. "Oh, my lord, don't make promises you might not be able to keep. Life is filled with pain, one way or another."

Henry frowned. This weary cynicism seemed so unlike the Danielle he knew—or was this the true Danielle? Was the young woman who had been filled with such passion for life just as false a front as the name 'Nicole' had been? His mind spun in a moment of panic—

No, surely not. No one could remain enthusiastic _all_ the time, not even his Danielle. He sighed and relaxed slightly, but still frowned: she was right. Tomorrow was promised to no man. Even so, there was _this_ moment, and it was lovely indeed.

"Life isn't _filled_ with pain," he protested gently, angling his head forward to catch her eye, and she gave him a tight smile. His heart squeezed as he straightened up again. _For her, it has been_. And he had played a major part in its infliction.

That her light should burn so bright and true in such ugly circumstances filled him with awe, and he wanted to prove himself to her. A proposal was not enough. He must demonstrate his commitment and extend his protection forthwith. There must be no doubt in anyone's mind that she was a princess, and not to be trifled with. The Baroness must not be permitted to exercise any rights over her.

Henry frowned, pressing his lips together. Rushing a royal wedding was not the done thing, but he thought his parents might be willing to make an exception in this case, if they knew the danger Danielle was in, and how much she meant to him. He would convince them.

But only if Danielle herself were willing. A rush of this sort would deprive her of her due as a princess, with the full escort and all the pomp and pageantry of a royal affair. He wondered if they had still held the wedding breakfast banquet after he'd left; all the food had been prepared and there were all those guests to feed. He supposed that most of the nobility had either gone home by now or were making preparations to leave, although the Spanish court would probably remain for another few days, until the treaty negotiations were completed and they could arrange the trip back to Spain. He winced. A treaty that must now be negotiated without the leverage of a marriage to ensure mutual cooperation. His parents must be livid, and he could only imagine what the King and Queen of Spain were thinking right now.

"You're right," Danielle murmured softly, and Henry blinked.

"I'm right?"

"There is joy and beauty, too," she said.

He smiled. "There is now."

Danielle chuckled and twisted to glance at him, giving him a look of fond reprimand, but he only grinned, unrepentant, until her face broke into a wide smile and she elbowed him playfully through the blanket.

Smiling, he shifted the reins to his other hand and settled his free arm around her.

"So..." Danielle began, turning her head towards him. "Your wedding to Princess Gabriella of Spain didn't happen after all? Le Pieu said it was to take place this morning."

"No," Henry answered, giving a short laugh. "That poor woman. I thought _I_ was miserable, but she was wailing so loudly that the whole cathedral echoed with her sobs."

"Oh, how terrible," Danielle murmured.

"It gets worse," he continued. "I was so nervous and relieved that I started _laughing_..."

Danielle twisted to glare at him. "You didn't!"

He closed his eyes and ran a hand down his face, nodding ruefully. "I did. Then I stood up and pulled her up with me, kissed her very wet cheek, and told her to go be with the man she loved." Henry chuckled. "He was in the Spanish court, attending the wedding. A round, balding little fellow, but they seemed very happy." Henry laughed softly and shook his head as Danielle put up a hand to cover her own giggle. "That's when I resolved to go find you and do the same."

Danielle sighed with contentment as she relaxed back against him. "How _did_ you find me?"

"The Baroness's carriage driver told me you had been sold the morning after the masque, and Jacqueline de Ghent told me Le Pieu was the one who had bought you."

"Ah."

They rode in silence for a short while.

Clearing his throat, he said, "I've been thinking."

"I hear it's a side-effect of all those books," Danielle observed dryly, and he laughed, then sobered.

"No, _listen_ , I'm trying to be serious."

Danielle quirked the edge of her mouth at him, but acquiesced.

"I don't want the Baroness to be able to put any claim on you." A sudden thought struck him. "What of your family? Can anyone protect you?"

Danielle stiffened slightly, then sagged. "No. My mother died shortly after my birth, and my father died ten years ago. The Baroness and her daughters are the only family I have left."

Henry frowned. "Family? But I thought you were only a servant in her household."

"She is my step-mother."

Blinking in confusion, Henry repeated, "Step-mother? But she called you a servant..."

"I have lived as a servant in her household since my father's death."

Henry glared at the road before them and tightened his fist on the reins, causing Féroce's head to jerk up from his placid stride. Henry murmured a quick noise of apology and relaxed his grip. Giving him a reprimanding snort, Féroce returned to walking, his great frame rocking gently with each step.

"Who was your father?" Henry asked, when he had control of his voice again. This changed things considerably. His parents would be relieved to learn that Danielle wasn't truly a peasant by birth.

"Auguste de Barbarac," Danielle replied.

"Not a nobleman?"

"No, only a wealthy merchant. He traded in silks and other fabrics. He was very popular with the courtiers and the nobles across the Continent, and he knew all the best tailors and weavers." Danielle's voice had taken on a wistful quality. "He loved to read, and was very well-educated. He knew German, English, Spanish and Latin, and even a bit of Romani. The gypsies, you see, are traders too, and they know the routes, and where the best of many trades are to be found."

"No wonder you weren't afraid of them," Henry muttered.

"What? Of course I was afraid of them," Danielle replied. "But he once told me how to behave if I ever found myself among them: be bold and clever."

"You are those things _all_ the time."

Danielle gave a soft laugh. "Perhaps that is why he told me to just be myself."

Henry chuckled.

After a moment, she said quietly. "He would have liked you, once he got to know you."

Ahead of them, coming in the opposite direction, was a wagon piled high with hay. Danielle lifted her hand from Henry's thigh and tucked her blanket more securely around her legs. When the wagon neared them, Henry nudged Féroce to their side of the road, the horses behind them falling into single file until the wagon passed. The driver, recognising their livery, gave a small demi-bow, half-rising from his seat as Henry and Danielle passed. Henry nodded, but then the man's eyes flickered curiously over Danielle and Henry frowned, knowing that this would be only the first of many such looks. He was pulling her into his world, where her every action would be scrutinised, her choices both unfairly criticised and held up for undeserved praise. She would be surrounded by layers of pretence and manipulation, by people whose appearance of friendship would be masking the fact that they were seeking advantages that could only be gained from obtaining her favour.

She was such an open and honest soul, and he wondered if the burden the crown would bring would be too heavy for her. Was he being selfish, asking her to become a part of his world?

And yet, he couldn't think of a better way to ensure her safety, and he owed her that, at least.

"I know this might all seem a terrible rush," he began, "and I'll understand if you wish to say no, but..." He drew in a deep breath, exhaled. "Danielle, would you be willing to be wed this very night? I don't wish to force you into anything. This isn't a command, only a question, and I..." He trailed off, uncertain of what more he could say.

He watched her shoulders rise and fall, and then she twisted to look at him, a brilliant smile appearing on her face.

"I would like nothing more."

His heart rose up somewhere in the vicinity of his throat and he had to swallow hard before he could speak.

"Truly?"

She nodded, her gaze falling to his lips. He smiled and pressed a brief kiss to the corner of her mouth before she twisted to sit facing forward again. When he tightened his legs against hers, she obliged him with a provoking wriggle, and they both fell to giggling. He held her close, sighing when her hands pressed against his forearm in a fond caress.

"I must ask my father and mother, of course, and Cardinal de Retz must agree, but I think it should not be too hard to convince them. Mother already loves you."

"What? How? Her Majesty doesn't know me."

"She knows that you have captured my heart, and that I am a better man for it. She said that you are a strong woman to have resisted me for as long as you did. Mother is also a strong woman; she admires those who can stand with equal strength. Not many do."

Danielle chuckled. "No, I wouldn't expect so."

"She will love you."

"And the King?"

"He will, too. Once he gets to know you." Henry squeezed her. "To know you is to love you."

"You are too generous, Your Highness."

"On the contrary, I am quite paltry and selfish. And it's Henry."

"I must have a name for you when I am piqued."

Henry heaved a put-upon sigh, although he was smiling. "Very well. I have a host of names. You may pick one of them. Henry James Jerome Étier Alexandre Phillippe de Valois."

"No, no, that's no fun," Danielle protested. "I must choose something that will put your teeth on edge. You seem so opposed to 'Your Highness', it's difficult to resist."

"I don't mind it generally," Henry replied. "Just when you use it."

"And thus I must."

"Anything else."

Danielle chuckled. "I promise never to use it in public. Will that do?"

"So...you expect to be piqued with me in private?"

"Fully."

Henry made a face. "Well, this is a fine beginning."

"Yes," she said, turning slightly to smile. "It is."

Chuckling, Henry held her close against him as they continued down the road.


	2. Chapter 2

_2_

A brilliant sunset lit up the sky as Henry paced the hallway outside the castle's small private chapel, the light casting long, narrow yellow beams across the stonework and setting off its features in sharp-edged shadows. His stomach fluttered, and he kept looking towards the heavy doors at the end of the hallway, where Danielle would soon appear.

So soon! Any moment now. He exhaled a chuckle of disbelief, then glanced towards where his father sat on a bench, frowning, as usual. Henry looked away quickly and tried to take an interest in a carving that hung on the wall, but his eyes slid off its contours without taking any notice of them. He didn't truly believe that his father would rescind his permission for the union, but with the king, one never knew; his moods could swing with the slightest breeze. At such a critical juncture, it was best not to draw his attention.

So Henry paced quietly, trying to calm the eager roiling in his belly. What was Danielle thinking right now? Did she regret accepting his offer so quickly? This was all _happening_ , and within a matter of only a few hours! They had met for the first time just over a week ago, and now he was irrevocably joining the rest of his life to hers. She was his _match_ , yes, but to take this step seemed a kind of joyful madness. He had expected to encounter more resistance to his proposal for an immediate wedding, and had spent the remainder of the ride home silently rehearsing his arguments, but the afternoon had spun by with surprising ease. When the rescue party had returned to the castle, Henry had had a guardsman quietly escort Danielle through a side-entrance, and they had met up again in the family's private apartments. She had protested this arrangement, not wanting to be introduced to his parents looking as she did, but Henry had insisted, confident that her appearance wouldn't matter to them.

Indeed, their greeting had warmed him through with relief and pride. His father had been eager to meet Danielle, the woman who had prompted such a profound change in his son, and the older man had spoken to her with gentle solicitousness. Henry had been equally delighted to see his mother, always the gracious queen, treat his chosen bride as kindly as if Danielle really were the noblewoman who had held the court in thrall of such a mystery, despite her unwashed hair and her stained fingers. He had been right; Danielle already held their respect and even a cautious measure of love.

Once Henry had explained how thoroughly he was to blame for the whole matter, and the three of them had managed to extract Danielle's entire story from her, there was no question of whether they ought to proceed with the marriage. In fact, while Danielle was resting, before she would be bathed and fitted for a suitable gown, Henry and his parents hatched a plan to deal with the Baroness de Ghent and her daughters. That is, until Laurent pointed out that the younger daughter, Jacqueline, was a kind soul and undeserving of punishment. That Laurent, the inveterate bachelor, should have not only noticed the young woman, but also been willing to oppose the royal family in disposing of her, prompted some ribbing on Henry's part.

All sorted itself out in due course, Cardinal de Retz was summoned, and Henry soon found himself, for the second time in one day, preparing to be pledged in marriage. This time, however, rather than feeling as though he had a belly full of rocks and was faintly sick, he was instead pacing from one end of the hallway to the other in nervously eager anticipation.

An hour earlier, his mother had appeared with instructions for his valets on how he ought to be dressed for the private ceremony. There was more latitude without a crowd to please, and as Danielle's wedding gown would be only of a usual daily sort, common amongst the courtiers, it was decided that his own dress should be equivalent. He was relieved to be free of the heavy cape that he had been forced to drag about during the morning's dreadful show. After some hurried discussions between two of the Queen's ladies-in-waiting and one of his valets, they had selected a deep emerald doublet, tucked him into it, and, just before sundown, deposited him in the hallway outside the castle's small private chapel.

The cardinal was waiting inside, ready for the ceremony to begin. Henry glanced out a window as he paced past it again, barely taking note of the impressive array of pink and orange hues that lit the clouds.

"Sit down, son," Francis commanded. "You're making me weary just watching you."

Henry found a seat and obeyed, but he only managed about five seconds of stillness before popping up again. Leonardo, watching from a bench nearby, chuckled.

"Oh, for God's sake—" Henry's father began, but quickly shut his mouth when the cardinal poked his head out of the chapel door with a look of righteous rebuke on his face. Francis glanced away, his jaw working.

"Night is nearly upon us," Cardinal de Retz observed, in a slightly peevish tone.

"What, God will not honor a marriage begun in the dark?" Leonardo asked, a teasing light in his eyes.

"My supper grows cold," de Retz replied.

Henry shot the older man a look of annoyance. Francis only _harrumphed_.

"This is all highly irregular," de Retz began, returning Henry's annoyed glance, but just then the heavy doors at the end of the hallway scraped open, and all four men turned to face the new arrivals.

Henry's mother stood in the doorway, and she made a quick hurrying motion with her hands, waving them all into the chapel. Why were they lounging about in the hall?

His heart thudding in his ears, Henry quickly followed the cardinal and his father inside the room. Candles placed about filled the small space with flickering yellow light. It gave the room an intimate feel and, in contrast to the impersonal pomp of the morning's aborted ceremony, when half of the cathedral had been filled with complete strangers, in this familiar place Henry felt something ease in his chest. Leonardo came in behind them and gave him an encouraging smile, and Henry returned it with genuine feeling.

There was no choir this time, only the soft swish of fabric on stone, and the footfalls of the women as they approached the chapel entrance. Henry turned to face Cardinal de Retz and stilled, straining to listen as Danielle drew near.

He could bear the wait no longer; he turned, and there she was, all loveliness and a glowing smile meant just for him. He warmed, and an answering smile bubbled out of him. How vast a difference from this morning! Yes, _this_ was right, _this_ was the sacrament, the holy thing, the brush with the divine. All the heavy finery and the hollow charade of the first ceremony paled to nothing. When Danielle stepped up beside him and the priest began to intone the words, Henry was filled with a rush of gratitude. He offered up a wordless prayer of thanks, and when the moment came to kneel and bow their heads, it was no longer a merely prescribed movement, but a true devotion. For the first time in his adult life, he _believed_.

The words flowed over and around him with their vague familiarity, when he did understand the snatches of Latin that he ought to have learned as a boy. He glanced across at Danielle and saw a look of quiet devotion in her expression, and to his chagrin, complete understanding of the cardinal's words; how anyone could have ever thought her a common servant was laughable. Henry looked back at de Retz, eager for the ceremony to reach its conclusion.

At each point, Henry made the movements and spoke the words that he had rehearsed for a different woman, but now he said them with joyful intent. Each word brought him one step closer to Danielle. When he slid the ring over her work-callused finger, it caught a bit and he swallowed, thinking of what a fool he'd been to try to give a ring meant for a privileged princess's slim fingers to a woman who had spent her life doing manual labour, but Danielle only chuckled and reached down to firmly twist it into place.

At long last de Retz finished guiding them through the recitations, responses, and prayers. He turned to Henry with a beneficent smile and said, "You may kiss your bride."

Henry looked, and Danielle, _his_ Danielle, was glowing. Her eyes and her smile were bright, and the candlelight caught in the gleam of her upswept hair. Suffused with delight, he reached down to take both of her hands in his own. He tugged her gently towards him and bent, finding her lips. Her soft touch met his with equal pressure, and as they tasted one another— _this is just the beginning_ , their motions promised—Henry felt her sigh. He breathed in her breath, and something inside of him broke, bringing tears to his eyes. When she pulled back and caught sight of them, he smiled, a deep smile that welled up from his soul, and her own eyes glistened with happiness.

"I love you," he whispered.

"And I love you," she replied.

They giggled then, giddy, and she squeezed his hands. He kissed her again.

"Get a room, you two," Leonardo called out, and they collapsed into soft laughter, blushing as they turned to face the small group of witnesses in the chapel.

The Queen was freely wiping at her eyes, making no pretense of hiding her tears.

The King gave a satisfied nod, his gaze holding Henry's for a heartbeat, and Henry nodded back, mouthing a silent _Thank you_.

"Let's eat," his father said. "I'm starving."

"Oh, Francis," Marie protested, but she put that aside when Danielle approached, and she hugged the younger woman before standing back and regaining her composure. "I'm sure you must be hungry, my dear. I've made arrangements for supper to be served in Henry's rooms."

"In Henry's—?" the king began, but his wife only gave him a quelling look.

" _Our_ supper will be served in our rooms."

"But what about our honoured guest?" Francis protested, waving his hands vaguely in Da Vinci's direction. "Is he to eat alone?"

"Oh, I ate down in the kitchens hours ago," Leonardo replied, smirking. He stepped up to the new couple and embraced them both, then stood back with a satisfied grin. "I'll stop back in for a snack and then I'm going to spend the rest of the evening working on my wedding present."

"Oh!" Danielle pressed her fingers to her lips, her eyes going wide. Then, dropping her hand, she said, "You're making something for _us?_ "

"Of course!" Leonardo replied, waving her off and starting to stride out of the chapel. "It's what I do. Besides, it's a lot less expensive than trying to buy a gift suitable for the Dauphin."

The royal family chuckled as they watched him leave. Turning, Marie raised her eyebrows meaningfully at her husband, who blinked in confusion, then made a quick noise and nodded. Smiling in a charming fashion, the king stepped up beside Danielle and tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow. "Come, my dear, let me show you the way to your new apartments."

Danielle glanced back at Henry in surprise, and he, too, moved to make a protest, but Marie quickly put her hand on his chest. She smiled at her new daughter-in-law.

"We'll be right behind you," the queen explained. "May a mother have one final walk with her son?"

"Of course," Danielle answered, smiling and relaxing again. With a warm flash of her eyes at Henry, Danielle went out of the chapel on his father's arm, and was soon laughing at something the older man had said.

"What's this about, Mother?" Henry asked, but she only shook her head at him, her eyes flickering towards Cardinal de Retz, and Henry nodded.

"Indulge an old woman," Marie said clearly, not looking old in the least. "I simply wanted to spend a few final moments with my son before he begins his life as a married man."

"How could I refuse?" Henry asked with a smile, escorting her out of the chapel. They walked down the hall slowly, and when Danielle and his father had rounded a corner ahead, Henry's mother turned to him, her expression now serious, and pressed her hand to his arm.

"She did not tell us her _whole_ story this afternoon, Henry."

He frowned, pausing beside her. "What do you mean?"

His mother glanced up and down the hallway; they were alone. She looked at him, her brows furrowed. "Annette said that—" The skin around his mother's eyes tightened. "—there are some terrible marks."

A tight fist squeezed Henry's gut. "'Terrible marks'? What do you mean? Did Le Pieu—"

"I don't _know_ , Henry. Danielle wished to dress herself, and Annette only saw the marks briefly, as Danielle was stepping out of her bath. I was not in the room at the time, and I could hardly insist that the poor girl show them to me. But she has been badly abused."

Henry swallowed.

His mother's grip on his arm tightened. "You must be gentle, my dear, do you understand?"

He gave her an incredulous look. "What do you take me for?"

She glanced away from him, a shadow passing over her face, and then she pressed her lips together in a tight smile, patting his arm before drawing her hand away. They began to walk again.

"I know you are a good man." Her expression softened. "So is your father. But all men—all women—can make mistakes. Particularly in circumstances such as these. Please promise that you will be gentle with her."

"I promise," Henry answered, an unpleasant suspicion roiling in his stomach. He looked down at his mother's profile and saw her not as the Queen, nor merely as his mother, but as a _woman_. The sensation unsettled him. "I promise I always will be."

She smiled up at him. "I know you will."

They rounded the corner and mounted the stairs to the family's private wing, and Henry wondered what he would discover. He had believed Danielle when she'd told him that Le Pieu hadn't violated her, but what would he find tonight? What had she hidden from him?

Henry paused on the curving stair and his mother paused a step higher, looking back at him in surprise.

"Do you have any other advice for me, Mother?"

She smiled. "For marriage in general, or for tonight in particular?"

Henry chuckled, glancing away self-consciously before meeting her eyes again. "Both...either."

Marie pursed her lips. "Your father explained the necessities, I take it?"

Henry made a face. "Oh, God, yes. When I was thirteen."

"Good. Then I shan't belabour that. Regarding marriage—and this applies to tonight as well—take the time to understand each other." Marie smiled. "She is a wise young woman. You've made an excellent choice."

"Thank you, Mother."

She drew him into a hug and he grinned as he released her.

"I look forward to getting to know her," his mother said, lifting her skirts as they continued up the winding staircase. "I suspect she will be a great comfort to us all."

"Yes," Henry sighed happily. But then he thought of the 'terrible marks' and his stomach tightened again. Tonight, it was his job to comfort Danielle, and he hoped he was up to the task.

They heard his father laughing—when was the last time Henry had heard his father laugh so freely?—and as they approached Henry's rooms, his mother touched his arm.

"Don't be afraid, son. She is strong. You'll do fine. Now, the servants will not enter your bedroom at the usual hour tomorrow morning. They won't enter until you ring. You may request that breakfast be served in your rooms, or you may request your valets and join your father for breakfast in the hall. Danielle will take breakfast in bed, just as I do. We will convene in the smaller hall at noon, for the presentation and then the judgement. For the remainder of this week, you will not be required to attend any of the usual functions, although we do ask that you take supper with us on Friday, and that you attend church on Sunday morning. Your usual responsibilities will resume on Monday. Do you have any questions?"

"May we leave the palace?"

"At will," his mother replied. "As long as you bring Laurent and his men with you."

Henry nodded.

"Good luck, my dear." She pressed a kiss to his cheek, then clasped her hands and stood back with a smile. Swallowing, he stepped up to his door and pushed it open.

"—that I am sure you understand," Danielle finished, and King Francis nodded.

"Yes, my dear, when you put it that way. I shall give the matter some thought. Oh, Henry! Your new wife is already pleading the cause of the unjustly accused."

Henry grinned. "Be careful, Father. That is how she won _my_ heart. You don't stand a chance against her."

Francis chuckled. "I'm beginning to suspect that."

Danielle smiled demurely, although the light in her eyes was quite wicked. Henry smirked at her.

"Well," his father said, suddenly looking self-conscious. He clapped his hands against his sides and turned. "I'll...leave you to it."

As Henry went to stand beside her, his father walked to the door. He gave Henry one last tight-lipped smile, and then he was gone.

Henry swallowed before turning to look at Danielle. His gaze travelled over her lips, her rosy cheeks, and up to her hair before coming to rest on her keen eyes. Her earlier humour had fallen away, however; now she looked nervous. He stepped close to her and put his hands on her upper arms, pressing a patient kiss to her forehead. Sighing, she sank into his embrace and wrapped her arms around his waist.

"I cannot believe that this moment is real," she murmured.

He chuckled and cupped the back of her head. "Believe it."

They stood quietly together for a minute, just breathing, and then he pulled away, glancing at the small table that stood beside the fireplace. There were several covered dishes on it, along with two goblets and a pitcher. "Are you hungry?"

"Not really," Danielle replied, swallowing. "Are you?"

He looked back at her, sliding his hands up to cradle either side of her head. "Not for food."

She smiled, but there was a flicker of something in her eyes, so he relaxed his grip, letting his hands come to rest on her shoulders instead.

"I—" She blinked, frowned, looked back up at him. "I want to give myself to you."

"There's no hurry," he said. "I didn't mean to rush you."

"No," she answered, reaching up to take his hands when he started to draw them away. "I don't want to wait. I'm ready."

He searched her eyes, but there was only a firm determination in them, and after a moment of holding his gaze, she smiled. He let out a shaky laugh.

"Are you certain?" he asked.

She pressed up on her toes and pulled him down for a kiss, startling him with a stroke of her tongue; it was the first time either of them had tried it. He laughed against her lips and opened his mouth to let her in, meeting her every thrust and parry. Still kissing her, he bent to pick her up and she giggled softly as their lips broke apart.

"Twice in one day?" she murmured, when he had lifted her up. Her fingers began idly stroking his hair back. She suddenly captured his earlobe between her lips, sucking playfully on it and, surprised, he nearly tripped on his way to the bed, only barely managing to deposit her there.

"Hey," he protested, crouching over her. "You're _heavy_ , you know."

She only laughed and tugged him down until he acquiesced, making a kind of mocking leap as he vaulted over her to land on the bed. Still laughing, she rolled into him—and banged his nose with her crown. He reeled back, clutching his face and blinking through the red sparks blooming in his vision.

"Oh! Oh, I'm so sorry!" She had one hand on her crown and the other held out, fluttering near his face.

He rubbed his nose, wincing at her through the tears in his eyes. She finally began to giggle softly, and he lay back gingerly on the bed with a rueful chuckle.

When the worst of the pain had passed, he sat up. "All right, the first order of business, my newly-minted princess..." He blinked, rubbing the tender bridge of his nose. "...is to dispose of all the potentially-lethal items you're wearing."

"Only me?" she protested. "You're wearing one, too."

"That's true," he said, "but I have had _years_ of experience learning how not to wound people with it."

"There's a metaphor in there somewhere," Danielle observed.

"Possibly," Henry replied with a grin, and when he reached up to touch her crown, she stilled before him. "But right now, I am not a prince. I'm just Henry, your husband, a man very much in love—" She smiled. "—whose nose is smarting like the devil."

She dropped her head with a chagrined smile, and kept it down long enough to allow him to work the fine metal circlet out of her braids. Looking at her tightly-bound hair, as lovely as the style was, gave him an idea. He slid off the bed and set her crown down on the shelf beside his armoire, then put his own beside it.

Turning back, he paused. She was kneeling on his bed, her legs tucked beneath her, the flickering orange firelight dancing on her features, and a gentle smile on her face as she watched him. He imagined her sitting there, her long hair loose instead...and far more casually dressed. He did not seem to be alone in his thoughts, however: her eyes travelled slowly over his body. He took his time in returning to her, allowing her to enjoy the view, and when he finally settled down beside her again, she smirked.

"You think a great deal of yourself, don't you?"

"Don't you?" he asked.

She batted his arm and he laughed, but when she looked at him, her expression had grown serious.

"I do," she answered. "You are beautiful. Every time I see you, you take my breath away."

He didn't know what to say, so he reached up and cupped her cheek, drawing her mouth to his for a long, tender, grateful kiss.

"That I should be so fortunate..." she breathed, when they parted. "I cannot imagine what I have done to deserve such a blessing from God."

"And here I am, asking myself the same thing," he said, "only with much more reason to think myself undeserving."

"Yes, well..." She smirked. "I won't argue with that."

"You—" he said with a grin, and kissed her again. She moved to be closer to him and ran her hands up into his hair, tugging on it. The motion tilted his head back, and as she had risen up on her knees, he submitted to her passion, opening his mouth with a groan. At the sound, her kiss became more insistent and he wrapped an arm around her for balance, using his other arm to brace himself on the bed.

"It's not fair," he gasped, when she finally allowed him to come up for air.

She frowned. "What isn't?"

"I can't do the same to you."

Her eyebrows twitched in confusion, until he reached up to run a finger along her braids.

"Oh," she said. "Yes, of course. Would you help me?"

"I'd be delighted," he replied with a grin. "What should I do?"

And so they spent the next few minutes pulling out hairpins and untying threads, unwinding the strands until all of her hair was loosed from its bonds.

She put the handful of accoutrements on the shelf beside their crowns and ran her fingers self-consciously through her hair. "I don't have a brush."

"Do you need one?" he asked. She looked utterly entrancing to him; he couldn't get enough of the silky feel of her hair. He lifted a handful of it to press it to his nose, and she gave him an odd look. "What?"

"Never mind," she replied, stepping up to him as he let the locks fall from his fingers. "No, I don't. Now do _I_ get to choose how to next reduce _your_ state of dress?"

He grinned. "I am but your servant, milady. Choose at will."

"This, I think," she decided, a smile playing on her lips as she ran her finger down the front of his doublet. He nodded and reached up for the buttons. "No," she said, brushing his hands aside, and his heart began to pound as her hands moved steadily down his chest, undoing each fastening, until the stiff fabric finally parted. Her mouth fell open slightly and she reached up to slowly slide her hands over the exposed linen shirt. When her palms brushed along his stomach, he realised he was holding his breath and released it. Her arms bumped against the doublet, so he quickly shrugged it off, tossing it aside. She smiled and tugged at his shirt, pulling it out of his breeches, and he laughed.

"You're no blushing bride, are you?"

She made a face. "Did you think I would be?"

"The woman who, at our first meeting, threw apples at my head? No. And I love you for it. But..." He grasped her elbows, causing her to still her hands. "I can't help feeling that you're...rushing, to cover your fear."

She glanced down. "A little." Looking up again, she grinned. "But the rest is because I just want _more_. Do you mind?"

"No, not at all. Not..." He kissed her. "...at..." He ran his hands up into her hair and—gently—tugged her head back and to the side, exposing her throat, then bent to trail his lips over the soft skin under her jaw until he reached her ear. "...all." Her hands had fisted in his shirt, gripping it for balance, and her breath caught in small ways as he moved, until she shivered at his final word. He smiled as he drew back.

Her eyes still closed, she said faintly, "I see why you liked that."

He laughed. "Yes. All right, it's my turn now."

She dimpled and picked up her skirts in a dainty fashion, turning to let him select the next garment. Her hair swayed with her movements, and he reached out to let it slip through his fingers as it went by. Then, humming in mock-serious thought, he turned her until he found the ties running down the back of her dress.

"Here?" he asked.

"Yes," she answered, gathering her hair and pulling it over one shoulder. Her tone had shifted subtly; for all their playfulness, there was a serious edge to the moment and Henry paused, his fingers on the topmost leather string. He bent to gently press his lips to the spot where her neck met her shoulder. When she only gave a soft sigh, he tugged the strings loose, then paused again to watch her. Her shoulders remained relaxed, so he continued until he had pulled all of the ties free, and the only things keeping her overdress on were the shoulder-pieces. Should he tug them off?

She answered his question by tugging them off herself, turning to look at him as she did, and he swallowed, watching the shimmering green fabric pool at her feet.

She wore a gold-embroidered white bodice that was tightly laced up the front, and she began to undo the ties, her fingers trembling slightly. Now it was his turn to brush her hands away. He stepped up to her and began to tug at the laces, pulling each one loose from the top to the bottom. His breath caught at how the shape of her bosom changed as he freed her from the constricting garment. When she shrugged out of the bodice, his eyes were drawn to how her body moved, and he reached up—

With an air of practicality, seeming unaware of his gesture, she gathered up the dress and the bodice to drape them carefully over a nearby armchair. She now wore only a chemise and pantaloons, and when she turned back to him, her gaze fell and her eyebrows rose, her mouth making a small 'oh'.

He blinked, then followed her gaze. His erection was quite obvious; he adjusted himself before raising his eyes to hers.

She swallowed as he came near, and suddenly all teasing was at an end. She reached for his waist and he bent to cup her face, and they kissed with quiet intent. When he drew back, he kept his eyes fixed on hers, but moved his hand down until he found the swell of her breast. Her eyes closed and her mouth fell open—his did, as well, as the soft, pliable weight fit so perfectly in his palm—and he kissed her again, trying to remind himself to be gentle, yet afire with a kind of madness that resisted restraint.

They bumped against the corner of the armchair and changed the angle of their kiss, stepping in a rush until he was pressing her against the armoire, the whole of his body against the entire length of hers. They groaned together and she broke the kiss, her hands digging into his back as he bent to lick the hollow above her collarbone, pushing aside the neck of her chemise and exposing one lovely shoulder. He dragged his open mouth over the smooth flesh as he pressed himself more firmly against her. There was too much—too much fabric in the way—he drew back with a gasp when he felt her warm palms sliding up under his shirt.

He pulled it over his head, then returned to kissing her again, gathering up the folds of her chemise, but she pushed him away and he drew back with a frown—only to smile when he realised that she had just wanted to look at him. She ran her hands over his chest hair, brushing it with her fingertips, her eyes glowing with delight, until he could stand it no longer and pulled her into another kiss.

She broke it and raised her arms, allowing him to gather up the long garment and lift it over her head, until— _dear God_ —she was the most magnificent creature!

He reached up to cup her breasts in his hands, humming his appreciation of their perfection. Finally, he sank to one knee, reverent, and pressed his mouth to a swell, glorying in its warmth and softness, its roundness, its... _Danielle_ -ness. He turned to kiss the other, closing his eyes. Chuckling softly, she ran her hands into his hair and tilted his head back until he was looking up at her. She was grinning broadly and he laughed, then moved to hold her as he straightened up, his arms encircling her. His palms slid up her back—

—and caught on something.

Something that ought _not_ to be there.

Her gaze flickered with confusion, then suddenly went quite carefully blank, and she resisted when he tried to turn her.

"No—Henry, please. It's—"

"Let me see."

Her brows furrowed. "It's nothing."

"I want to see."

She pressed her lips together, then finally gave a faint nod and turned her head to the side. Reluctantly, she gathered her hair and pulled it over her shoulder as she slowly turned.

 _These_ were the 'terrible marks'.

Her back was crisscrossed with pink welts, some darker red than others. The wounds had closed and were healing well, but their edges were unmistakeable. They marred her otherwise _perfect_ back.

" _I'll run him through_ ," Henry hissed.

"No, don't—" Danielle put out a hand, turning her head. "It wasn't Le Pieu."

"Who was it?" Henry asked through clenched teeth.

Danielle shook her head. "It doesn't matter."

Henry's stomach churned and his heart twisted; he cradled her body with one arm and ran his finger over the awful lines with his free hand. "Yes, it _does_. I will make them _pay_."

"No," Danielle said, and turned into his embrace, drawing the wounds away from his touch. She reached up and took his face between her hands. "No, it _doesn't_. They will heal. In time, they will disappear."

"Not completely," he answered. "Scars such as those remain."

"They have ceased to hurt," she said simply. "Don't reopen them."

He glared down at her—not angry at her, but filled with fury—until the firm light in her gaze finally broke through his wrath. Tears rose in his eyes. _Dear God, this woman!_ He had never met anyone like her, and he loved her _fiercely_. He wrapped his arms around her, feeling the welts against his forearms, and buried his face in her hair. He had failed to protect her, the woman he loved. What was his position worth, if he couldn't do even so simple a thing?

Leonardo's words suddenly echoed in his ears, ringing out with a stinging lash:

 _Have you any idea what that girl went through to get here tonight?_

Henry knew who had beaten her. A cold fury pulsed through him—but it was a mixture of anger at that cruel bitch of a woman and anger at himself. He'd been such a self-absorbed fool...

He drew back and met Danielle's soft gaze. "When?"

Her eyes flickered away and her face tightened. "After we spent the night with the gypsies, I returned home so late that I slept past dawn..."

"She beat you for _that?_ "

"No," Danielle replied. "But I was late with all the chores and the day just kept going from bad to worse." Her hands tightened against his skin. "Then I discovered her and Marguerite with my mother's wedding dress and shoes, and I was so angry, I hit Marguerite—"

Henry laughed. "So _that_ was the terrible black eye Mother said Marguerite had at luncheon!"

Danielle pressed her lips together. "Yes. Well, I shouldn't have hit her."

"She deserved it!"

"Very much, but it was...unwise to provoke her." Danielle's eyes filled with a renewed pain and her gaze fell to Henry's chest. "...and then the Baroness had me beaten for it. A few hours later, when I could bear to wear a dress, I came to meet you."

Henry frowned. Danielle had come to see him at the ruins at Amboise that afternoon, but she hadn't seemed injured—

His mouth fell open. She had cried out when he had tried to embrace her!

It _had_ been a cry of pain. He'd thought there was a note to it, but he hadn't understood. He had been so caught up in his own joy that he had just let her flee, _again_ , back to that awful place.

He knew the moment that she could see the dawning awareness in his eyes, because she reached for him, and there were now tears in her eyes, as well.

He pulled her close and kissed her, answering her unspoken request, and ran his hands up into her hair. He would not reopen her wounds; they were hers to close. But he swore silently to himself that the Baroness would _pay_.

But later. He would think on that later. For now, tonight, in this moment, he was Danielle's and no one else's. He would serve her to the best of his ability. If this was what she wanted, then this was what he would give.

And this _was_ what she wanted, for she kissed him with a kind of hard desperation and he matched her. They tugged off each other's remaining clothing and he led her to the bed. Her body trembled, but the fire in her eyes burned steadily and she would not allow him to pause or be too gentle. Her fingernails dug into his back, her strong arms and legs wrapping around him, and he held her tightly in return. They kissed and stroked, gasping out one another's names, grasping flesh and pressing hard. He let his passion carry him, and he didn't pause to question hers. They fumbled, grunted, and found one another again, wordlessly forgiving the awkwardness as they learned.

When the moment came, he met her eyes and she nodded, spreading her legs to receive him.

She was _so_ wet, dripping with it, and he gave a soft laugh, delighted and amazed. When he touched her, she moaned and moved against his hand, her undulations driving him wild. She _wanted_ him inside her, he could feel it, and he wished for nothing more than to satisfy her. He found her, and pushed—his first thrust caught, and she gave a small cry, but he withdrew, learned, tried again, and this time he slid into her with such ease that he sank all the way to the hilt and gave an involuntary, guttural moan of surprise.

Her own deep moan matched his and he bent his head to kiss her, hard. She wrapped her legs around his hips and grasped his buttocks, pulling him in deeper, and he grinned. _Yes_ , he could do this. _Yes_ , he wanted to. _Yes_ , _she_ wanted him to! _Yes. Yes. Yes._

They rocked together without restraint until he felt himself going over the edge and he arched back, losing himself in her body, a wordless exclamation of pleasure and gratitude and relief, of utter release, escaping his lips. His body thrust of its own accord until he was spent, and then he groaned, collapsing onto her.

She grunted, her breath forced out of her lungs, and she pushed up at him. He wearily lifted himself with a little noise of apology— _of course, I'm sorry_ —and when she had drawn in a full breath and pulled him back down, he sank with a grateful sigh.

His heart was pounding, his skin flushed and tingling, and he was filled with the deepest satisfaction, a luxuriant relaxation suffusing his entire being. She breathed beneath him, warm and trembling, and pressed her lips to his shoulder.

"I love you," she murmured.

He exhaled a soft laugh and slowly turned his head to kiss her cheek. "I love _you_. Ohhh..." he sighed, his eyes falling closed again. _Husband and wife_. _One flesh_. He understood it now. He cared for her body at least as much as he cared for his own. Just the thought of her in pain made something twist inside of him. And seeing her pleasure only heightened his own. _Yes_.

She tightened around him and, startled, he lifted his head with a sharp gasp, only relaxing when she did.

"Oh—I'm sorry—" she said quickly, her hands fluttering on his back. "I didn't mean to do that. It's just..."

When she didn't finish speaking, he opened his eyes and looked at her, idly rubbing his thumb on her shoulder. His fingers slid over her sweat-dampened skin. He didn't want to leave her just yet, but if she was uncomfortable...

"It's just what?" he asked, propping himself up on his elbows and smiling down at her. Her hair was splayed across the pillow, surrounding her head with a light brown halo. He loved the heightened colour in her skin, and the full, red curve of her lips. Seeing her roused in this fashion, mussed and taken, filled him with a deep pride and affection. He was thoroughly satisfied, and given how passionately she had taken him in, surely she must be, as well. He kissed her, long and slow this time, and she held him tightly, kissing him back.

There was something hungry in her kiss, and when her body tightened around his again, he had to gasp and break away. His body was still too sensitive; he couldn't remain inside, so he withdrew.

She made a small sound of disappointment. "What's wrong?" she asked, her voice very small, and he focused on her, sliding back up beside her and settling down. He gave her a reassuring smile and stroked at the hair that lay damp against her temple.

"Nothing is wrong," he answered. "Nothing at all."

"Oh," she sighed, and rolled into his arms, burying her face against his chest. He couldn't quite name it, but he had the distinct sense that she was hiding something.

He stroked her hair, trying to encourage her to pull back. "Are you...all right?"

She nodded quickly and looked up at him. "Are you? I didn't hurt you?"

He chuckled. "No."

"But you seemed to be in pain..."

He stroked her cheek and gave her a lopsided smile. "A mild discomfort only." When the uncertain look remained in her eyes, he frowned and glanced down between them—

There was blood on the sheets.

It wasn't _his_ blood, surely. A quick check confirmed it, and then he vaguely recalled his father once mentioning something about how to tell when a woman was a virgin, and he relaxed back. Le Pieu couldn't cause any trouble now. Smiling, Henry reached out to gently cradle Danielle's hip with one hand and he met her gaze.

"I'm sorry," he said, his smile falling away. "I wasn't thinking—I should have realised." He swallowed. "Does it hurt?"

She shook her head and sat up to inspect everything. "No. It looks much worse than it feels." Something passed over her face then, but she didn't continue.

"What? What is it?" he pressed her, but she only smiled at him and gingerly climbed off the bed, tugging at the sheets as she went. He quickly rolled off and helped her gather them up, then pointed to the corner of the room where he always tossed his clothes for his valet to pick up later.

She gave a slight shake of her head. "I'll need a moment, my lord."

Then, carefully walking with the armload of fabric, she disappeared round the corner that led into her own bedroom. Henry considered following her but, glancing down at himself, he realised that a bit of a wash wouldn't be amiss. He picked up the ewer and wet a cloth.


	3. Chapter 3

_3_

When Danielle returned several minutes later, she was wrapped in a white nightgown and a blue robe, with a matching blue sash tied round her waist. She padded into the room and smiled when she saw him stand up from his seat at the table beside the fire, which he'd built up again. He went round the table to pull out her chair and she blinked, then gave him a grateful look as she sat down.

"My lady," he said, retaking his seat opposite her. They bowed their heads in a brief grace, and then he lifted the covers from the dishes and set them on the floor. Danielle's eyes widened as she spread her napkin over her lap, before eagerly setting to. He laughed, watching her.

"What?" she asked, after she had finished her first mouthful. "This is wonderful."

"It is?" It seemed fairly common to him—not anything to match the morning's sumptuous banquet, he was certain—but then he remembered what she was probably accustomed to eating and he closed his mouth. He would enjoy her infectious enthusiasm and enjoy the "simple" meal. With her seated across from him, it was anything but common.

He ate and watched her sigh and hum with each bite—even with each sip of the deep red wine—and he smiled as she swallowed and licked her lips. She seemed unaware of the small sounds she was making, and he delighted in them. She had eaten luncheon with him and his parents earlier in the day, but he realised now that she had been painfully self-conscious and quiet, only speaking when spoken to. And no wonder, given how tired and overwhelmed she must have been. His parents had been kind and gracious, but the Danielle of the afternoon was a pale shadow compared to the Danielle who sat before him now, relaxed and satisfied.

But he watched her, wondering what she was keeping to herself. She had curled up in the chair, her legs drawn close to her chest, and was cradling the goblet—her second—while she watched the flames popping and crackling in the hearth. There was a healthy glow to her skin and a thoughtful look in her eyes. He smiled at the prospect of enjoying such a view for many years to come, and took a sip from his own goblet, content to simply watch her.

After a time, she turned to look at him, and a teasing smile rose on her lips.

"You look very satisfied," she observed.

He chuckled. "I am."

"Good," she replied, and her eyes drifted back to the flames.

He watched her, waiting, then frowned and set his goblet down. "Are you?"

Her eyes flickered back to his and her brows furrowed in confusion. "Am I what?"

"Satisfied." He levelled his gaze, no touch of humour in his tone.

"How could I be anything else?" she asked with a smile, spreading her arms and stretching back. "Look at where I am! Look at who I'm with."

His smile was measured. "It merely sounds as though you think you _ought_ to be."

She toyed with the edge of her robe, and smiled at him. "I cannot complain."

"Yes," he replied. "You _can_."

"But don't _wish_ to, Henry. I am simply grateful to be here right now. That is enough."

He nodded and pressed his lips together, his smile conceding the point.

She shifted to face him, stretching out her legs until her feet brushed lightly against his under the table.

"So what's this new purpose you've found?" she asked. "You mentioned it when we were at Amboise, but you never told me what it is."

Henry laughed. "I didn't, did I?" He shook his head and relaxed, slouching in his chair, and let his feet settle against hers. "I want to build a university with the largest library on the Continent, and I want anyone to be able to study there, no matter their station. Even the gypsies."

Danielle's smile was wide. "What a wonderful idea!" she said, before taking a sip from her goblet. "Even women?"

His eyebrows shot up and he chuckled. "Now _there's_ a dangerous thought. The prospect of more women like you wandering about, armed with philosophy and apples..."

She shot him a look and he grinned.

"Will you really do it?" she asked, serious again, and he nodded.

"Father thinks it's a brilliant idea."

"It's a lovely idea, enabling everyone to study, but how will the poor pay their way?" She took a sip from her goblet. "And would the nobility tolerate the upward mobility of the peasant class?" Henry blinked as Danielle continued. "How will the working classes qualify for entrance if they are not given sufficient education in their youth, but are instead required to spend most of their days consumed by manual labour?" Henry's frown deepened. Danielle gave him a chagrined smile and looked down. "I'm sorry, my lord. My mouth has run away with me again."

Henry sat forward. "You must stop doing that."

Her brows furrowed. "Doing what?"

"Apologising for _thinking_."

A small smile tugged at her lips. "No one has ever listened to me as you do," she explained. "Not since my father died, at least."

"More should," Henry said.

Danielle shifted uncomfortably.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"I am just...always surprised that you think me worth listening to," she replied. Her gaze slid away from him, focusing on the fire again. "I had not given much thought to a husband," she continued, "but whenever I did, I did not imagine anyone like you."

"Like me? How do you mean?"

She shrugged, looking back at him again with a funny quirk of her mouth. "I had thought men only interested in women for the purposes of—" She glanced towards the bed. "—childbearing, mothering, and housekeeping. But you..." Her brows furrowed as she met his gaze. "You seem interested in me not because of my appearance, but because of what I say."

Henry chuckled, once again finding her feet with his own while still leaning towards her, his elbows on the table. "Oh, don't mistake me for having too many lofty ideals," he said. "I am _quite_ in your thrall."

Danielle blushed and smiled down at the silken edge of her robe.

Grinning, he pressed on. "You are the first thing I have felt passionately about in...well, for as long as I can remember."

Her head shot up. "Surely not! You are exaggerating to provoke me."

"I am not."

"But surely you have argued with your parents about wanting to escape your—" Danielle waved a hand at their surroundings. "—'gilded cage'."

Henry snorted. "All right, yes. I have felt passionately about _not_ wanting a great many things. But that's not the same as feeling passionate _about_ something. Rejecting everything leaves you empty and frustrated. You can't build a life around that. There's nothing there to believe in."

Danielle nodded and looked down, but she was frowning when she raised her eyes to his again.

"What is it?" he asked.

"I just—" She bit her lip, glanced at the fire, then looked at him again. "I don't want you to believe in _me_. I fear that I cannot uphold such a faith. Someday I will disappoint you, and then where will we be?"

"No," he said gently. "You don't understand." He swallowed and paused to consider his words. "I don't believe _in_ you, not in the way that one would believe in God. But you have enabled me to know _what_ I should believe in." When Danielle blinked, frowning in confusion, he continued. "I have been taught a great many things by a host of people: my parents, my tutors, the priests, my father's advisors, my friends. Some of it they intended to teach me, some of it they were dismayed to find that I had learned. I have seen a great deal of hypocrisy, a great many people who would only use me for my influence. I have been manipulated and tricked, lied to, and laughed at. Oh, not to my face, of course, but I've heard the jokes and the insinuations. I learned quickly that I could not trust most people's words at face value."

"Diogenes with his lamp, looking for an honest man," Danielle murmured.

Henry nodded, his mouth twisted. "Except that I put away my lamp when I put away childish things."

"It is no wonder that you stepped away from me at the masque," she said, her expression tightening. "I had lied to you, too. Oh, Henry, I'm so sorry."

"I know," he replied, reaching across the table. She gave him a tentative smile, sitting forward to set down her goblet and clasp his hand. "But I meant what I said at luncheon: I forced you to continue your ruse. You kept trying to put me off, but I _hounded_ you."

Her answering smile was sad, and he reached out with his other hand to take her free one.

"I hounded you because I was hungry," he continued. "I knew you were hiding your name from me, but you weren't hiding your true self. You know what is real, what can stand the test of hardship, because your life has been hard. You're not idly entertaining yourself with hypotheticals. You have read the philosophers and tested the boundaries. You have _lived_ ; you have known loss, and love. You have convictions and you can defend them eloquently."

"Oh, my lord—" she protested, but he squeezed her hands and shook his head.

"There is a solidity in you that has helped me to trust my instincts about what is right. I never wanted to be king before our night with the gypsies, but after what you said, I knew that I could fulfil the obligations that I have been born to. When I was a young boy, I wanted to do good, but the more I learned, the more it seemed that there was no real truth in the world, nothing worth fighting for. There was only the empty march of duties and obligations, isolation, and the pointlessness of tradition. Lacking purpose, I felt directionless, and yet everyone was looking to me, expecting me to lead them one day." When Danielle nodded, Henry pressed on. "You are honest and bold, and you do not think as others do. And when you look at me, you see _me_ , not the crown and the wealth and the political games you can play if you have me in your pocket. You are my _match_ , Danielle." He squeezed her hands and smiled. "The effort of rising to meet you makes me feel so _alive!_ "

"I agree," she replied, grinning. "You are quite a lot of work, you know." He chuckled as she pushed herself to her feet, leaning over the table. Her eyes fell to his lips and he smiled, standing up along with her, but their kiss was awkward with the table between them, so he stepped around it and took her hand.

"My lady," he murmured, drawing her into his arms for a proper kiss, and they sighed together when it ended.

"I am sorry for not staying to tell you the truth at Amboise," she began, and when he made a noise of protest, she stilled him with a finger on his lips. "You think me bold, but I lost the courage to tell you the truth because what you said made me realise that I would break your heart." Danielle's eyes glistened. "You showed me a part of yourself that was too precious to be broken. I couldn't find the right words, but the longer I delayed, and the more you said, the worse it became. I realised then that I wasn't just another courtier for your entertainment. You were crediting me—little _me!_ —with awakening your passion for life, your freedom. You see," Danielle swallowed, resting her palms on his chest, her cheeks aflame. "I've never felt this way for a man before and for this, my first time, to be with the _Crown Prince_ , and for it to mean _so much_ to you—I am just a poor country girl, sire! My only thought was to flee."

He stroked his fingers along her hair and smiled. "I know. You have no need to apologise. Let this be the end of it." He fixed her with a direct look. "Let this also be the end of you calling me 'sire'. You are my wife now." He softened his gaze. "Please, Danielle. Call me Henry."

"Henry," she breathed, closing her eyes, and he smiled and rested his cheek against her hair.

Then he drew back with an incredulous look. "You thought that I entertain myself with the courtiers?"

She blinked. "Well, don't you? The way people speak of you..."

"What people?"

"Well, everyone is always competing to win your favour. You are the Prince, and can take your pick. Surely you've..." She raised her eyebrows suggestively. He let her dangle, purposely waiting for her to finish her sentence, until she finally gave his chest a fond thump. "You know!"

"Yes, I do," he answered, his amusement quickly dying. "And no, I do not 'entertain myself' with the courtiers."

"Why not?"

He gave her a look. "Have you _seen_ them?"

She laughed, but tilted her head in question. "Many of them are very beautiful."

"But empty-headed," he replied, "and the ones that aren't look at me like a prize stag." He shivered, then shook his head and focused on her with a warm smile. "If I was to take a lover, I wanted it to be someone whom I really _loved_."

Danielle blinked, frowning slightly. "You are not saying this to me only because I am now your wife."

"No."

"But Paulette says—"

"Who is Paulette?"

"One of the two women who raised me. She is a servant in the Baroness's household. She says that men take advantage of every...opportunity. The nobility in particular."

Henry made a short noise. "Some do."

"For most of the men I have watched, it seems true," Danielle said, narrowing her eyes. "Of course, Maurice has only ever had eyes for Louise..."

"And who are Maurice and Louise?" Henry asked, chuckling. "More colourful characters in the Baroness's household?"

"Yes," Danielle answered, grinning now. "And my friend Gustave is their grandson. He's the one who brought Leonardo to free me and make my fairy wings for the masque. Gustave is a wonderful painter; he fashioned my glitter. Under Leonardo's direction, of course."

Henry nodded, making a mental note to find the young man and thank him properly.

"You have truly never bedded a woman before?"

Henry smiled, reaching up to brush his fingers against her neck. "Would you believe me if I said no?"

Danielle chuckled, then coloured and glanced away. When her eyes returned to his, there was something sparkling in them. "Yes, _now_ I would."

"Why now?" he asked slowly, his eyes narrowing, looking forward to parrying her next thrust.

"Because..." And she swallowed, lifting her chin. "...I _wasn't_ satisfied."

His mouth fell open and he bent his head. "Truly?"

She dropped her gaze, demure. "Well, I wanted... _more_."

"I'm sorry, I didn't realise." Henry swallowed. "Why didn't you say something?"

"I thought you knew how it's meant to go," Danielle answered, finally meeting his eyes. "I was following your lead."

" _My_ lead?" he repeated. "I was following _yours_."

"Mine?" She gave him an incredulous look. "But I am not a woman of the world."

He chuckled. "And yet you know that my performance left something to be desired."

Danielle blushed, but she did not break from his gaze. "It was an impression only, my lord. I do not wish to give offence."

"You? Not wish to give offence?"

"I never _wish_ it, exactly..."

"Well, since I am now _thoroughly_ offended," he said, smirking at her. "You must make proper amends."

"Oh yes?" she replied. She pursed her lips and stepped away from him. "What did you have in mind?"

He advanced on her. "Clearly, this requires an application of the most _enlightened_ scientific principles." He paused and put a finger on his bottom lip in mock-deep thought. "What is it that Leonardo is always going on about? Oh, yes." Henry fixed Danielle with a look. "Observation, hypothesis, _experimentation_ —" He wiggled his eyebrows at her, and she laughed softly, still backing up. "—and verification."

She bumped into the bedpost and he pressed against her, capturing her mouth in a deep kiss.

"This won't do," she murmured, when he drew back. At his frown, she gestured behind her at the bed. "No sheets." His frown deepened, but she only smiled and took his hand, twisting away from him, and led him towards her bedroom. He gave a soft laugh.

When they reached her bed, however, she paused and turned to him. "I might not be able to accommodate you a second time this evening. There is still some...tenderness."

"That's all right. I expected you'd say that." He smiled. "I wasn't planning to take you in any case."

"Truly? Why not?"

He shrugged. "I...just don't feel ready yet."

"Oh." She blinked, frowning in confusion. "Then how do you intend to...experiment?"

He grinned and raised his hands to wiggle his fingers at her, making her giggle.

"I noticed," he began slowly, "how freely you responded at first, when I just touched you." Holding her gaze, he tugged at the sash of her robe with one hand while sliding his other inside the opening to cup her breast, and he smiled when she drew in a soft breath. He hummed in approval, stroking with his thumb until she clutched at his nightshirt, moving into his touch and allowing him to play. As her soft nipple pebbled under his fingertips, she gasped, and he smiled.

Kissing her softly, he slid her robe down her shoulders until she shook it the rest of the way off. As the cool fabric landed around their feet, Henry tugged at the drawstrings of her nightgown, loosening the neckline and making the white linen fall open. The sliding fabric exposed one shoulder and draped perilously close to the swell of her breast, so he pulled at the strings until the lovely feature was fully in view, then gently backed her up to the bed and encouraged her to sit on its edge. Kneeling before her, he kissed her skin patiently, waiting for some sign to either pause or continue. When she ran her fingers through his hair and pulled him closer, drawing him into the space between her legs, he looked up at her.

She was smiling.

He matched it and turned his head to explore further, nuzzling the soft, warm flesh of her breast, and when his lips drifted over the nipple, she gasped again, tightening her legs around him. With a low hum, he closed his eyes and captured the sensitive tip in his mouth. She made a surprised noise, her hands flexing against his scalp. He could feel her whole body responding and it filled him with a heady delight. Eagerly, he continued suckling—

"Ow!" she cried suddenly, tugging him away, and he looked up at her.

"What—?"

"Too hard," she managed. "Gentler."

"Ah," he replied with a nod, and returned to her breast, but a moment later she tugged on him again.

"I have two of those," she said, smiling.

He gave a soft laugh and saw that the other nipple now formed a tantalizing, visible peak under the thin fabric. "Indeed you do." He moved to widen the opening of her nightgown, but the neckline caught on her opposite shoulder and the drawstrings seemed to keep wanting to get in the way, so he finally just settled back on his haunches to allow her to rise, and they removed the long garment together.

She sat down on the bed, now in just her drawers, rubbing her arms to warm herself, then noticed what she was doing and lowered her hands to give him access again.

Henry chuckled and got to his feet, bending to press a quick kiss to her forehead. "I've been remiss," he said. "Let me just build up the fire."

Danielle gave a soft laugh and Henry glanced back at her as he crossed to the fireplace.

"What?" he asked.

"The prince, offering to build up the fire for _me_..." She shook her head, a half-smile on her lips. "That's my task in the mornings."

"Not any more," he answered with a grin. "Now you have servants for that. You can sleep in tomorrow morning."

"Ohhhh..." She flopped back on the bed with a happy sigh, stretching out her arms. "I haven't slept in since..." She frowned. "I can't remember when I last slept in without having to rouse for work." She shrugged. "Work never stops for the servants, even on holidays."

Henry selected a few split logs from the woodbox, thinking that he hadn't been roused for work a day in his life. Or at least, not work in the sense that she meant it. His days could still be draining in their own way. He wondered how it would feel to finish a day's honest labour and go to bed with the satisfaction of having worked the land with his own hands. Danielle had spoken of taking pride in such labour. Straightening up, he glanced at her, noticing for the first time how the swells of her breasts curved to the sides of her torso when she lay on her back. He watched in fascination as she rolled onto her side, propping her head up on one arm, her breasts' weight shifting with her movements until they formed new curves, the upper one now cradled by a crescent shadow that outlined the fullness of her form.

"I believe it only works if you put the wood _on_ the flames," she observed dryly.

He blinked. "What?"

"The fire," she answered, sitting up. The movement made her breasts take on a more expected shape; they swooped with smooth, round curves that his hands ached to cup once more.

"Oh. Right." Wrenching his eyes away from her enticing form, he quickly turned to set down the logs and knock some of the ashes out of the grate with the poker. When he heard her chuckling softly, he snuck another glance back at her. She had climbed off the bed and she began busying herself with something on the far side of the room. He smiled at the sight of her long hair swinging, partially obscuring her lovely bosom as she moved.

A minute or so later, when he had placed all the logs and made sure the flames were licking well enough at them, he straightened and set the poker back in the rack, then turned—

Danielle lay on her side, stretched out across the bed in all her glory, her head once again propped on one hand. She was watching him with a small smile playing on her lips. She had spread a bath sheet out atop the covers, and she patted the spot beside herself, beckoning him over. He grinned and eagerly obeyed, stripping off his nightshirt before climbing up to lie beside her.

"You..." He exhaled a hum and ran a hand reverently over her skin. "...are the loveliest..."

She moved one leg between his and drew closer to him, her eyes falling closed. "Mmm. You're warm."

"Good," he answered, already lowering his head to kiss the soft hollow of her throat. She pressed against him, sighing her pleasure, and he continued his exploration, now cupping her breast as he kissed her skin, listening closely to the sounds she made and the way she moved in response. She really was the most wonderfully expressive creature...

Her leg tightened against his, drawing her hips into contact with his belly, and he luxuriated in the way she pressed herself against him. He decided to help her, and slid his hand down her side until he was cupping her bottom. What a satisfying handful, firm and soft! She groaned and pressed again, her movements hungry, and he pulled her leg up over his hip. She eagerly wrapped herself around him and he let her, encouraging whatever she seemed to be trying, but her movements eventually slowed and she made a small noise of frustration.

"What do you want?" he murmured, drawing back to look at her.

" _More_ ," she breathed, her brows furrowing as she pressed against him.

He stilled the movement with a hand on her hip and lifted his head. "More...inside?"

She blinked, swallowing and shaking her head. "No..." She pressed her lips together and frowned, then sagged. "I don't know. I'm sorry."

He paused to look at her. "Have you ever experienced the little death?"

She drew her head back in confusion. "The little _what?_ "

"You know..." He raised his eyebrows. "The moment when you reach the peak and release?"

"I..." she trailed off and shook her head. "I don't know. I don't think so."

He tilted his head, a thought suddenly occurring to him. "Do women feel it, I wonder?"

"Perhaps if you describe it, I could tell you."

Henry refocused on her and his cheeks warmed. He shrugged. "Well, you know...when your body reaches such a height of pleasure that it..." He blinked, trying to find words for something he had never had to describe before. "...convulses and releases its seed, and then you just...relax."

Danielle blinked. "No," she said clearly. "I have never felt something like that before. I'm not sure women have...seed. Only a womb." She gave a small half-smile and her gaze grew distant. "But it sounds wonderful."

"Hm," he answered, looking down at her body again. He encouraged her to draw her leg away from his, despite her noise of protest. "Lie back," he said, running his hand over her belly, and she obediently straightened out beside him, opening herself to his view. She had been trying to press her hips against him, but she didn't want him inside; she was still too tender. What _did_ she want? What were her movements telling him? He closed his eyes, letting his fingers continue to drift, and listened. When did her breath catch?

As his hand brushed against the patch of soft curls that lay at the base of her belly, her body quivered. Earlier in the evening, when he had first been trying to find his bearings, he had touched her here and she had pressed up against his hand. He wondered...

She gasped and there it was again—she pressed up against his touch. He smiled and opened his eyes; hers were closed now, and her lips were parted, moist and pink. He leaned down to kiss her and continued to stroke, marvelling at the feel of her body; the soft, pliable flesh, the slick folds and curves, the warmth, the hair that tickled his palm. He slid his hand further down, his fingers exploring, and she suddenly hissed, her eyelids flying open.

"No—not there—" she said, her hand grasping his to still it. "Above, below—yes. But not there."

"Why not?" he asked.

"It hurts."

He slid his fingers further down, finding her entrance. "Here?"

"Yes, but not too deep...at least, not tonight."

He nodded and pulled his hand back up, brushing through her patch of hair, finding that small nub again—

She squeaked, her hands flying up in surprise, and he immediately pulled away.

"I'm sorry—"

"No, no," she breathed. "Please..." Her skin was already flushed, but colour rose on her cheeks and her eyes grew heavy-lidded. "Do that again."

"Here?" he asked, and there it was, the touch that made her hips buck up towards his hand. He grinned. He thrummed with delight as he watched her writhe, her eyes falling closed when she moaned.

"Yes," she managed, after a moment. "Please..."

Her skin there was soft but dry, so he dampened his fingers at her entrance and returned them to the small nub, running them around it in a small circle. She made a tiny noise in the back of her throat and her hands flexed on the bath sheet that lay beneath them.

He continued his ministrations, trying different strokes, different pressures—she reached for him with her near hand, clutching his upper arm, and her breathing quickened. He found a swirling pressure that seemed to please her, for her body grew taut, neck extended, bosom thrust up and one peaked nipple brushing against his chest in a delightful way—and then she was shaking under his hand, trembling. She gave a long, deep moan and tossed her head. He continued the steady movements of his fingers until she sighed and finally relaxed, sagging against the pillow with a final shudder.

He grinned and lifted the finger he had settled into using. "More?" he asked, although he was fairly certain she had reached her completion. For the first night with his new wife, it seemed he had done quite well.

"Mmm," she sighed, her eyes still closed. "Yes, please."

He raised his eyebrows, his finger still poised above her. "Truly?"

She smiled without opening her eyes, and nodded.

Amused, he touched her again, and was surprised to feel her hips once more moving eagerly against his palm. But when she began to grow taut as before, he withdrew his finger with a wicked smile.

Her eyes flew open. "No! Don't stop! Henry, what are you—?"

Chuckling, he slid down the bed until his face was level with her hips and rolled to align himself with her. She had lifted her head and propped herself up on her elbows, a look of concern on her face. Sliding his hands under her haunches, he encouraged her to raise her legs to either side of him, then paused briefly when he caught sight of dark marks encircling her ankles. He opened his mouth to ask her about them, but stopped himself just in time when he realised: they were bruises from Le Pieu's manacles.

Danielle did not seem to catch his glances. "Henry, I'm not sure this is—"

"Shh," he replied, and bent his head to kiss her with focused intent, fighting a dark rush of fury. He closed his eyes and inhaled the earthy scent of her, pulling himself back into this moment. Then, drawing in a deep breath, he touched her with the tip of his tongue and raised his eyes to gauge her response.

"Oh—" she exclaimed, her eyes widening. "Oh, oh—ah—!" Her breath flew out of her in a shocked rush and her head fell back. He laughed softly against her warm, slippery depths, taking his fill of the sight of her even as his tongue tasted her, again and again, until he focused his efforts on that sensitive little nub. Her legs trembled against his shoulders and she finally cried out, her hands once again flexing in the rumpled bath sheet.

Dear God, he could do this all night, if this was what she wanted. That she could feel this more than once, and in such close succession! He was hungry to witness more, and he felt his body waking up, surprising him.

When she had fallen limply to the pillow again, her chest heaving with her breaths, he lifted his head.

"More?" he asked sardonically.

Her laugh was soft and filled with a kind of pleasant exhaustion. He grinned, watching her lie there looking so thoroughly spent and _satisfied_.

"I..." She sighed. "I do not know if I can...my lord." Her arms were splayed out, her legs spread to either side of him; she lay with complete abandon, trusting him without reserve, and he watched her with a warm glow of pride. _Danielle, my beautiful wife. Mine._

"Well," he rumbled. "Let us see, shall we?"

She gave a kind of helpless laugh that was cut off by a renewed moan and a sudden undulation when his tongue found her again. But this time, she did not seem to respond as readily, so he tried a different experiment, brushing his fingers against her entrance as his mouth continued its slow enjoyment of her. She moaned at his touch, her hips bucking softly, and he explored, testing, enjoying the sense that he could play her as a court musician played his instrument, plucking the strings and making beautiful music...and there it was again, her body growing taut, then shuddering against his lips. She was the most magnificent creature.

This time, when she finished, she lay utterly spent and unmoving, except for the regular rise and fall of her chest. Smiling, Henry licked his fingers before quietly shifting out from under her legs and moving up to stretch out beside her again. He rested his head on the pillow and watched her, admiring the full curves of her lips and the way her eyelashes lay against her cheek. The hair around her temples was damp and darkened, and he reached up to brush his fingertips through it.

When she finally opened her eyes, they were filled with a warmth and a peace that made him smile and lean in to kiss her. She rolled into his embrace with a contented sigh.

"I see why it is called 'the little death'," she murmured. "I feel as though I have gone to heaven."

He laughed and then sighed, cradling her with his arm, letting his own eyes fall closed. He might have been inclined to try to find a bit of heaven again, himself, if it weren't for how tender she said she was. He hadn't seen any more blood, but she was probably wise to want to avoid being taken again this night. There was time enough for her to heal. He smiled at the thought. A lifetime together like this...

He drifted, rousing only when one of the logs fell in the grate, sending up a shower of crackling sparks. Danielle yawned and opened her eyes, her expression sleepy.

"Excuse me, my lord," she said. "I'll only be a moment." She rolled slowly off the bed and got to her feet beside it, swaying slightly.

"Good idea," he answered, when he saw her heading towards the screen; the chamber pot likely stood behind it. With a groan, he stood up and crossed into his own bedroom to relieve himself.


	4. Chapter 4

_4_

A short while later, they were once again beside one another in the bed, now under the sheets, and there was a fresh pair of logs in the grate. Danielle lay on her stomach, her folded arms tucked against her sides and her eyes closed. Henry had convinced her to remain unclothed and had done the same himself. The sheets lay draped low across their hips, and she occasionally sighed with sleepy pleasure, smiling.

Her smiles prompted his, but the sight of her back muted his happiness. As he caressed it, he purposely avoided tracing the pink welts that marred her skin, but he could hardly ignore them; his fingertips ran over each bump, each reminder of her ill treatment. The darkened scars were cast in shadowed relief by the flickering yellow-orange firelight. He had chosen to let her sleep on the side of the bed closest to the fireplace, because her skin still held the faint texture of gooseflesh where his fingers ran over it, and he did not want her to be chilled during the night. He ran his thumb over her shoulder blade before returning to soothing her with long strokes that drifted from her neck to the soft curve of her bottom.

"Mother will be summoning her to the palace tomorrow noon," he said.

Danielle's brows pulled into a sleepy frown, but her eyes remained closed. "Her?"

"The Baroness."

The wrinkles between Danielle's brows remained.

"—and Marguerite, of course," Henry finished, immensely grateful that the sharp-faced young blonde woman was far away from them at that moment. She had eyes that reminded him of a wolf's, and he suppressed a shiver.

Danielle's expression smoothed out. "...oh. Yes." Unexpectedly, she smiled, and Henry blinked in surprise.

"What amuses you?" he asked.

Danielle's eyes opened, and there was genuine happiness in her expression. "For a moment, I didn't know who you meant." She laughed softly. "I'd completely forgotten all about her." Danielle rolled onto her side and smirked at him. "You have a way of driving out every bad memory, my lord."

Henry chuckled. "Good." He rested his hand on her hip. "She'll never be able to hurt you again. Tomorrow will be the last time you'll ever have to lay eyes on her. She lied to Mother, and so did Marguerite. Father has agreed to send them to the Americas."

Danielle lifted her head in horror. "No! Don't do that." At his frown of surprise, she pressed on. "They are unprepared for such a journey! They would be completely defenceless. Please, Henry. You must beg His Majesty to be lenient."

"How can you say that?" Henry asked, narrowing his eyes. "She _beat_ you and mistreated you for _years!_ "

Danielle sighed and placed her palm on his chest. "She only beat me once. She otherwise never raised a hand to me."

Henry scowled. "Once is more than enough. These are vicious scars."

Danielle gave a slight shake of her head. "You don't understand," she said quietly. "She has had a very difficult life." At Henry's incredulous stare, Danielle explained, "The Baroness has lost two husbands, and the second left her without a living, trapped at a remote country estate with three daughters and a houseful of servants to maintain. She could not afford to keep most of the servants, and so had to let them go, but the work never lessened. She and Marguerite and Jacqueline were accustomed to a softer life; they knew nothing of how to milk a cow, or till the ground, or gather herbs and berries from the woods. They were helpless; they _needed_ me, they _needed_ us to care for them."

Henry frowned. "I think perhaps you give them too much credit."

"No..." Danielle sighed. "You should have seen them. They were so terribly _lost_. And I knew how everything worked. Between Louise and Paulette and Maurice and I, we could sort it all out. Jacqueline tried to help, but she kept breaking the eggs when she went to gather them and she was hopeless in the kitchen. She cried when Louise spoke sharply to her, once, for getting soot in the dough. It was just easier to keep them upstairs while we did the day's work." Danielle's eyes closed. "The Baroness was terribly lonely, and afraid, and no longer a young woman, even if she _had_ been able to put herself in the path of rich men. What hope did she have but to find Marguerite a wealthy husband? It was their only escape. The farm produces barely enough for us to buy seed for the next season; the Baroness was reduced to selling all of our furniture and tapestries to Le Pieu just to get by." Danielle's mouth pulled down in a frown. "Of course, she never told _me_ she was selling my father's books and my mother's clothing...things just went missing while I was out in the fields."

Henry frowned, grasping that hateful woman's true situation for the first time. She and her daughters had always appeared finely dressed, but he saw now that she must have had to sell necessities to buy the garish jewelry and clothing that they wore. He wondered how many other courtiers were hiding poverty behind their appearance of wealth. It was a concerning question, for if France were not as well off as its nobles pretended to be, there was a deep weakness lurking amongst them. The country could hardly afford to finance another expensive war, but there were always threats and enemies encroaching on their borders and threatening the honest, hard-working folk who depended upon the protection of the Crown. He would need to discuss this with his father.

And he saw that sending two women to that distant continent, without a husband's or a father's protection, would leave them terribly exposed; he winced at the thought of what would likely become of them.

"Very well," he answered, and Danielle opened her eyes. "I will ask Father not to send them to the Americas. But Mother was insistent: the Baroness must be stripped of her rank and title."

"They must not be left paupers, either," Danielle said, taking his hand with her own. "Please, Henry. Punish them if you must, but do not reduce them to a life without hope or dignity. She _did_ take care of me these past ten years. I am an orphan. She could have pushed me out to fend for myself, but she gave me a roof, and food."

He frowned. "She used you ill," he insisted, "and it is _your_ roof, too. It was your father's estate; thus it is half yours."

"I am not sure it works that way for daughters," Danielle said. "The Baroness was his wife; it all fell to her when he died."

"But you are his only child," Henry protested. "Blood trumps all else."

Danielle shrugged. "You would know the law better than I."

Henry frowned; he was not certain. If Danielle had been a son—but she was only a woman, and women generally were not permitted to own property. Except in such a case, where there were no sons. But was she right? Would her step-mother have become the legal owner of all her father's property?

He gave Danielle a pained smiled. "Is this another example of how I first make criminals and then punish them?"

"My lord?"

"The Crown suffers laws that disenfranchise women, so women should not be held to the same standards as men?"

Danielle's eyes burned. "We have no rights of our own to property, we can only be educated at home and by the permission of our fathers, and we cannot pursue a profession or a trade. How then can the standards ever be the same?"

"But there is the moral law that applies to all, male or female."

"True, but she did as best she could," Danielle repeated. "I do not wish to see her harmed."

Henry shifted his jaw in annoyance, but finally nodded. "She should still be punished for beating you and for _selling_ you! Le Pieu must also be made to pay."

Danielle's brows drew down. "I have no love for the man, but he _did_ enable us to keep going long after the Baroness had drained my father's credit. If Le Pieu hadn't bought most of the items in our house, we would have fallen into poverty much earlier."

"How can you be so lenient?" Henry asked, frustrated.

"Why are you so vengeful?" she retorted, fixing him with a look, and he finally sighed and shook his head in reproach. "Henry," she said, her voice quieter now, "I wish to be free of them. Holding the wrongs they've done me, turning them over and over in my mind—they are not worth the anguish. Because of your position, any punishment we can devise would be of a devastating and permanent nature, and I do not want the weight of their future sufferings on my conscience. I agree that they should not be allowed to walk away without consequence, but they will suffer in their own ways. Le Pieu will never be able to hide the scar on his cheek and will never wish to admit that he received it at a woman's hand. He knows that if he ever moves against you or me, his shame will be exposed. Likewise, the Baroness and Marguerite will be forever excluded from court life, never permitted to attain those heights again. They will become _personae non gratae_. For them, it is a harsh punishment indeed. You needn't make it worse."

Henry gave a slow nod and looked down at Danielle's hand. He turned his palm over to weave his fingers with hers.

"Very well," he said. "But when tomorrow's audience with them comes, you must speak for them. I can assure you that no one else will."

"I agree," she replied. "But what will become of Jacqueline? She deserves no punishment. She has never spoken an unkind word to me."

Henry chuckled. "Don't fear. I have it on good authority that Laurent has taken a fancy to her."

"Really?" Danielle's eyes twinkled. "Oh, how lovely!" She smiled and gave a soft giggle, drawing her hand away from his to press her fingers to her lips in delight. "Oh, yes..."

Henry grinned. Danielle's eyes drifted closed, and her smile softened. Reaching for her, he drew her close and returned to caressing her back. The welts now made him think of her grace and kindness; her generosity of spirit, her wisdom, and her beauty of soul. He was a fortunate man indeed. With her beside him, he could lead France with deft insight, with a voice of reason that surpassed the initial rush of emotions, and _saw_ the true causes and the just solutions. The high callings that the priests had always lectured him about took on a new quality. They were no longer mere ideals—"Love thy enemy" and other such fantastical statements—but a kind of wisdom that made healing and wholeness possible, in a way that vengeance never could. Even one's enemies were human and in need of a measure of grace.

Henry snorted softly to himself. _He_ had been in desperate need of grace, and she had shown it to him. How was he any different? The wounds he had inflicted on her were less visible, but they were no less painful, and as he held her gently now, he let himself hope that he had atoned for them.

Whatever happened at the Baroness's audience on the morrow, Danielle had already made her peace. Henry closed his eyes and prayed for a similar grace. Although the scars on her back would remain visible for many years, he wanted to be able to hold her and touch her without the taint of anger boiling under his skin—either anger at himself, or anger at those who had more directly inflicted the wounds.

As he imagined the next day, he smiled at the thought of how the court would react to the presentation of Danielle as his bride. They would be curious, but she would undoubtedly win most of them over before the day was out. They would come to love her just as he did. He resolved to have Laurent arrange for all of the servants in the Baroness's household to come to the palace later in the day. Danielle should be free to celebrate with those she loved, those who knew her well, and he looked forward to meeting them properly. He would thank that young man, Gustave, for making sure she was freed from her imprisonment on the night of the masque.

Henry recalled Gustave's painting on the day he had met the young man out in the field near Danielle's home. It really had been quite nice, a well-balanced landscape portrait with the manor offset and hazy in the morning's light. Perhaps Gustave could apprentice with Leonardo.

Thoughts of apprenticeships led to thoughts of how to enable more peasants to qualify for a university entrance. It seemed an insurmountable problem. And what of the nobility? Danielle was right: they would probably oppose anything that enabled the upward mobility of the lower classes. But Henry was unwilling to compromise his vision. This university _must_ be a place where it was possible for anyone to study. He frowned. Anyone? Earlier, the thought of sending women to university would have seemed an outlandish jest, but Danielle was a fascinating counterexample. He could see her thriving in such a place, her love of books inspiring even the driest of tutors to fits of rapture. He smiled.

Danielle sighed against his neck, her warm breath running over his skin, and as he looked down at her, he realised that she had fallen asleep. He shifted and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. Then, smiling to himself, he drew the covers up over them both and drifted off.

* * *

 _Author's Notes_

I'd like to thank my three betas, **Jamie,** **Jean** , and **Eowyn77** , who have provided me with invaluable corrections and suggestions for improvement. Reviewer **peski0piksi** also prompted a great addition to the story. Thanks also to Drew Barrymore, Dougray Scott, Susannah Grant, Andy Tennant, and Rick Parks, who breathed fresh life into these familiar characters. Finally, thank You, Lord, for stories and inspiration and sex and love and philosophical debates. There is so much fun to be had in this universe You've created!

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I do not own any _Ever After: A Cinderella Story_ properties, nor do I make any money from the writing of this story.

Characters and situations, created by Susannah Grant, Andy Tennant, and Rick Parks, are taken from _Ever After: A Cinderella Story (1998) © Twentieth Century Fox Film Corporation._

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This story is released under the GPL/CC BY: verbatim copying and distribution of this entire work are permitted worldwide, without royalty, in any medium, provided attribution is preserved.


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